Did I Fall Asleep?
by TheAwesomeBirdie
Summary: Fred couldn't imagine going back to his family, who thought he was dead. He could think of only one option. The Dollhouse in London. When things go wrong and a brilliant consulting detective starts looking for him, who will he find? Rapier or Fred Cont...
1. Chapter 1: Doll

**Alright so, to start off, I would like to explain what this fanfiction is. This fanfiction is a combination of the three things that I've been obsessing over lately. Harry Potter, Dollhouse, and Sherlock. It takes place three years after the seventh book of Harry Potter but I have no idea when it takes place in relation to the other two series. Fred Weasley is the main character and to be honest it killed me writing him as a Doll from Dollhouse. I had to completely wipe him of personality and memory, as a Fred fangirl that just killed me.**

**Anyways, time for warnings:**

**1) Three way crossover.**

**2) OCs. Several OCs that work for the London Dollhouse.**

**3) OCxFred. Sorry for that.**

**4) OOC-ness on Fred's part but that's only when he's working as a Doll.**

**5) Prone to rewrites and adding more warnings as the story progresses.**

**Please enjoy the story :) and Reviews are always welcome.**

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><p>Fred's mind still felt groggy, he couldn't remember the last time he slept, not counting when his body had sent him into a coma to save his life from a collapsing wall. Everything had been happening so fast since then and now he was sitting across the table from the most intimidating person he had ever seen, except perhaps his mother. The man, who had introduced himself as Dr. Archer, had black hair, sprinkled with bits of grey, and had glasses that hid his devious blue eyes. It wasn't anything about his appearance that frightened Fred, not his overly clean business suit or his square jaw or the frown lines around his mouth. What frightened him was the way he held himself, like he owned everything, including Fred himself.<p>

"So, Mr. Weasley was it?" The man gave a smug smile that looked unnatural on his aged face.

Fred nodded.

"You've heard our offer. Sign this contract, and five years of your life belong to us, and after those five years you're free to go with the large amount of money you have earned. Another plus, whatever trauma you are suffering from will seem to be erased when you leave."

"Not my memories though, those will stay intact, right?" Fred asked.

"Of course." He smiled.

Fred looked at the paper in front of him, honestly considering his two options. He could walk out, assuming that this man would let him, and go back home. The idea seemed so good at this point but he couldn't shake the image his family crying, for him, they thought he was dead. He had hurt them so badly. Then there was this option, five years with these people and supposedly all his guilt would disappear. After, maybe, he would go home and explain to them what had happened.

Only after he had thought of both options extensively, he signed the contract and looked up at Dr. Archer. "Excellent," He said and stood up, walking to the only door in the small room which he opened. "Erin, would escort Mr. Weasley here to the imprinting room?"

A girl, who looked much to young to be a part of this _Dollhouse_, walked into the room. She seemed small, and it wasn't her stature that made her seem so, she was average height. She slouched, and hid under the folds in a large ratty green sweatshirt that was the same color as the eyes that were lurking under a short mop of red curls. She almost looked like a mouse, the way her nose pointed and her freckles seemed like the roots for whiskers that weren't there.

"This way, please, Mr. Weasley." She said in a small voice.

Fred got up from his chair and a small part of him dreaded what this tiny girl could do.

**Three years later**

Renee turned over in the bed to look at the handsome man next to her. He had just woken up as well and the two seemed to be on their way to a nice quiet morning, though Renee knew it was close to ending.

"Morning," He smiled at her before planting a kiss on her lips.

"Morning, feeling alright?" She asked, thinking of the extensive exercise they had gone through the night before.

"Well I'm a bit sore but nothing that a little love won't hurt." He smirked and kissed along her neck, soft and sweet. He stopped when he realized that she wasn't exactly enjoying his touch. "You alright, love?" He asked, moving a strand of blond hair out of her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, James" She faked a smile and kissed him. The two spent a while cuddling under the blankets, enjoying the others company on the quiet morning until James' phone rang.

"Damn, that'll be the office calling." He fetched the small flip phone off the night stand. "Hello?" He answered as Renee played with his red hair. "Oh, a treatment? This early? Alright, I'll be right out." He hung up the phone. "Sorry love, I gotta run." He kissed her on the forehead before getting out of bed and picking up his clothes. "I'll call you." He smiled.

"Right, of course you will." She nodded from the bed.

James left her flat, with the complete intention to call her and maybe even start a relationship with the girl he was met at the bookstore. When he got into the black van with the woman who had dropped him off at the bookstore the night before he felt really good about what he was gonna do after his treatment. "I'm actually going to call this one." He told the woman. "I mean, she's smart, she's funny, sure she's not a beauty queen but that's not a bad thing. I really think she and I will go somewhere. You know what I mean, Joan?"

The blonde woman, who wore her hair in a tight bun over her head, nodded. "Believe it or not I've heard this a million times, from a million different men." Her bright blue eyes staring out the window. She was a thin woman with a heart shaped face and flawless makeup. Yet, that still didn't make her pretty. She just looked fake.

"Well, I mean it," He smiled and reclined in his seat.

Joan rolled her eyes, because she honestly had heard this from a million different men. All these different men looked the same though. The same red hair, and brown eyes, same square jaw and thin lips. That's because, physically, they were the same man. This man, when he wasn't out on engagements was called Rapier, and Joan was his handler. She was in charge of seeing him to his engagements and making sure nothing went wrong. Rapier trusted her, an artificial bond of trust that was nearly impossible to break. That's why, every time, he would get into the van with her, without question. Joan always found it amazing when she thought about it everything she could do with that trust. She could do anything to Rapier without him protesting.

They reached the underground parking garage that had the elevator which would take them into the underground building that was the London Dollhouse. James, or as Joan called him, Rapier, was still going on about Erin as they descended in the elevator.

"After my treatment, will you bring me back by her flat? I really think I should tell her how I feel."

"Of course, I'll take you back right after your treatment." She lied to him as he changed from the white button up shirt and slacks to the baggy red tank top and sweatpants that he wore as a Doll. She didn't follow him into the Imprint room. Erin didn't like her much and she didn't feel like started an argument with the girl who could make any Doll into a killer if she wanted to.

"Hello, James." Erin greeted him as he laid down into the imprinting chair.

"Hey, can we get this treatment done quickly? I wanna get back to Renee." He asked.

"Of course." She smiled and started the _treatment. _The imprinting and wiping of Dolls, or actives as some preferred to call them, was preformed in a high-tech chair that reclined so the Doll's head was encased in type of hallo that emitted bright blue light as it worked, clearing the Doll's mind or filling it with whatever Erin had programmed into the chair. Erin, sometimes while watching, would remind herself that it hurts the Dolls when it happens. A complete reworking of their brain and what they thought was real. You could tell it hurt just by looking at them, their bodies would stiffen and jerk slightly, their faces would become contorted with pain. Then, in a moment it would be over and the chair would raise itself into a sitting position. The Doll would look at her blankly and say-

"Did I fall asleep?" Rapier's voice broke her from her thoughts.

She looked at him and smiled. "For a little while."

"Should I go now?" He asked.

"If you like," She said and he got up and walked out of the imprinting room


	2. Chapter 2: Fireworks

Rapier dipped his paint brush back into the yellow paint and then lightly pressed it back onto the paper, letting the colors meld together as he painted. Joan wondered if he know what he was painting, at first she hadn't noticed. It had at first looked like a bunch of squiggles on the page, red, yellow, and orange squiggles. Then, as he continued to paint it turned into fire works against a night sky. It wasn't that good of a painting but she could tell what it was now.

"Rapier," She caught his attention. "It's time for your treatment."

"I like me treatments," He said blankly. He set his paint brush down and got up from the art table, following Joan into the imprinting room. He was like a child, he didn't know about anything. He just followed Joan like a lamb that followed the one who was going to slaughter it.

"Alight Erin, hurry this up." Joan led Rapier into the imprint room and he sat in the chair.

"Yes, yes, I'm getting to it." Erin placed the wedge into the chair and watched as Rapier was imprinted with the new personality and memories that she had created for him. The chair lit up and Rapier jerked slightly and then it was over.

"Hello James." Joan smiled. "Come on, the car is waiting to take you to Renee."

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><p>George's life hadn't been the best for the last three years. His twin had died, he had spent a good four months completely silent and avoiding his family, then Percy and Ron had shown up at his flat and forced him out of his depression. Both of them refusing to leave him alone no matter how many times he asked. Truthfully, he was grateful, he wondered how much longer he could have stayed alone without deciding to join Fred in the after life. The only excuse he ever had for claiming his life was horrible was that Fred wasn't there. Fred was gone, completely and totally. George had tried to deny it to himself at some point, had tried to convince himself that Fred was still alive. After all, his body had disappeared from the Main Hall not twenty-four hours after he had died. It was as if he had just walked out, it had been a hard second blow to the Weasley family. First, losing their son. Second, not being able to even give him a proper burial. But, then George had to face the truth, if Fred had been alive, he would have come back. He wouldn't have left George alone, at least not without a damn good reason.<p>

He had stopped waiting for him, and thanks to Percy and Ron, he was able to pick himself back up. He wasn't all better, far from it, he still felt as though there was a part of him with a gaping hole ripped into it. He felt like half of him had been torn away. Most days though, he was able to numb himself to this pain and keep the shop running. But, today was Saturday, today was his day off. If he stayed in home he knew that his depression would decide to visit and if he went out into the wizard world he'd just get the looks of pity that always seemed to follow him. So, he went out into the muggle world, walking through the streets of London and occasionally wandering into a pub for a drink and a girl to flirt with or into a restaurant for dinner.

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><p>"Hello, love." James smiled when Renee opened the door to her flat. "I'm sorry I didn't call after my treatment, it slipped my mind." He landed a kiss on her cheek.<p>

"That's alright," Renee smiled.

"You ready?" He offered her his hand the two set off onto the streets of London. "You know, I heard there is this amazing Chinese restaurant around here, if you want to eat before the movie."

"Alright," She said and they set off that way. "You know, what we could do. Get it to go and eat at my place." She leaned against his shoulder as they walked.

"Yeah, ok-"

"Fred?" The voice sounded as though it was being strangled out of whoever had spoken the words.

James turned around and for a second he thought he was looking into a mirror. Then he noticed the man standing in front of him was missing an ear and James was positive he had both of his.

Renee glared at the man, he was ruining everything. "No, his name is James."

"Excuse me, I think I would recognize my own twin." He returned her glare then looked back to James, his expression softening. "I see his face everyday, in the mirror."

James looked back and forth between the man and Renee. He didn't know what was going on. He wanted to believe the man, after all they looked so much alike. But, that would mean his entire life was a lie. His mother who died last year to cancer, his little sister who had just been accepted into the school of her dreams. He remembered it all so clearly, he remembered the summer home his family would go to every year. How he and his sister would chase each other around that great big beach. How could any of that be fake.

He looked at Renee. How could what he was feeling for her be fake?

"I-I'm sorry man, my name is Ja-" He didn't get to finish the sentence as a fist connected to his left cheek, knocking him to the pavement.

Renee gave a surprised scream, which sounded quiet next to the loud _crack_ that had sounded. James looked up and the man was gone. Renee was by him though. "Oh my God, are you ok? He punched! Who was that guy? Why did he look like you?"

James' mind felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Everything seemed muffled and his thoughts were miles away. "I don't know. But that name, what was it? What was the name he called me?" He asked. An image of two boys with flaming red hair flashed into his mind. Fireworks were exploding around them, not normal fire works either. These moved as though controlled by magic. The scene felt odd in James' mind, like it didn't quite fit there. At the same time it felt right, like it had been there the whole time.

"Fred, he called you Fred." She told him, raising an eyebrow. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

"James," A woman's voice cut him from his thoughts. "Would you like a treatment?"

James looked up at Joan. "A treatment sounds nice." He said, the words forming in his mouth before he could think of them. Every thing was going to be okay now that she was there. He got up and followed into the black van. He no longer cared about Renee or the man from the mirror. After his treatment everything would make sense.

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><p>"What do you mean he glitched?" Joan snapped at Erin as Rapier was being wiped.<p>

"I mean he glitched. There was a spike in his thoughts. What happened?" She demanded, typing furiously on her computer.

"He was punched, the guy looked just like him, Erin. He called him Fred." Joan sat on the edge Erin's desk.

Erin immediately stopped typing. "Do we know if Rapier had a twin? Back before he was Rapier I mean?"

"You mean back when he wasn't a mindless zombie that we can make do anything we want?" Joan asked, looking at her nails, now bored. "I don't know, Dr. Archer never told me anything."

Erin stood up and walked over to Rapier who's wipe had just completed.

"Did I fall asleep?" He asked blankly.

"For a little while."

"Should I go?"

"If you like." Erin said as sweetly as she could and watched him walk out of the imprint room. "Well, I'll talk to Dr. Archer. Though, he never listens to me." She sat back at her computer.

"That's because you're always in here." Joan gestured to the room around them. "You spend half your time with the Dolls." Joan chewed on her lip. "Whatever, I'll talk to Dr. Archer for you and get back to you with that info on Rapier's family." She hopped of the desk.

"Hey, make sure Rapier visits Dr. King. His cheek looked really bruised. Something might be broken."

"Sure whatever." Joan waved at her as she left.

Erin shook her head, Joan never took anything seriously. "Screw my life." She muttered to herself as she ruffled her red mop of hair. She hated working with the handlers, all of them felt so self important. None of thm appreciated what she did. If it wasn't for her the Dollhouse would be nothing. Who else could imprint the Dolls? She furrowed her brow in concentration. Who had done it before she was there? She pushed the question from her mind and looked back to her computer and got back to work. Imprints didn't build themselves.

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><p>George didn't know what had just happened, when he had arrived back at the Burrow. He had apparated straight into his room, not wanting to bother the rest of his family who were most likely sleeping since it was late at night. Of course it wasn't actually his room, it was Charlie's old one. He hadn't been able to stay anywhere that reminded him of Fred. Heck, he hadn't even seen his flat since Percy and Ron had dragged him out of it. Going back there would just make him plunge right back into his depression. So he stayed in Charlie's room.<p>

He closed his eyes and saw himself back in London. He had been walking down a quiet street, enjoying the peace that he was feeling. Then he saw him. At first he thought he was seeing things but that was him, that was Fred, walking on the other side of the street with some blond. Oh Merlin, what was he wearing? He looked like some filthy rich boy, wearing a blue polo shirt and slacks. George couldn't help himself. That was Fred, sure he was acting bizarre but that was Fred. He crossed the street and stopped them.

"Fred?" He said, sounding way too uncertain of himself.

Fred had turned around the second he had heard his voice and he was certain that Fred was about to say something or rush and hug George. But then that stupid girl had interrupted.

"No, his name is James." The girl glared at him.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Excuse me, I think I would recognize my own twin." He turned back to Fred, taking in the face he knew so well. "I see his face, everyday in the mirror."

He had never seen Fred so confused in his life. He kept looking between George and the blonde. Then, the worst thing he had ever heard in his life came out of Fred's mouth. "I-I'm sorry man, my name is Ja-" He never got to finish because at that moment George had felt a rush of anger that could have only been brought by Fred pulling something like this. George had punched him. His fist had acted on it's own accord as anger flashed through his mind.

"He doesn't remember! That bastard doesn't remember a thing!" George shouted as he opened his eyes, back in Charlie's old room. "James," He spat the name. "What type of name is that?" He threw himself onto the bed, screaming into the pillow, frustrated. After he had calmed himself, he looked up away from the abused pillow and towards the window. "I'm gonna find that bastard and make him remember. He left the whole family and he had better have a damn good excuse for doing that."


	3. Chapter 3: 221B Baker Street

"We can't find anything on his family. Nothing." Dr. Archer threw a manila folder onto Erin's desk. "There are no records of any Weasley family."

"What? He gave us a fake name? How is that?" Erin picked the folder up, all that was in it was what they already knew of Rapier. "Don't you do a background check?"

"We have no need to with Dolls." He told her. "What makes you so interested in the fact that he has a twin?"

"Because, no wipe is complete, no matter how much we like to believe it is. Some memories are so strong that they leave ghosts behind. Phantom memories I guess you could call them. A twin, could cause glitches, several glitches if they meet again." Erin put the file down and turned to her computer. "I'll scrub Rapier, see if that'll at least keep the problem from resurfacing without a trigger."

"Make sure you do." Dr. Archer demanded and left the imprinting room.

Erin frowned at his back, he was never that nice. She shifted her green eyes from him to Rapier's file. Chewing on her lip, she contemplated reading though it completely. She had read through it before, but something was bothering her. Hastily, she picked the file up and started reading, her eyes tearing into the words like it was new book.

**Birth Name: **Fred Weasley

**Doll Name:** Rapier

**Birthday:** 1 April 1978

**Circumstance:** Unknown

That was it. Erin frowned, they didn't know why he had come to the Dollhouse. There was very little else in the file, a few notable physical characteristics but that was it. She sighed and put the folder down. There had to be a way to find out more about Fred.

Something caught her eye through the window that looked out onto The Floor. All the Dolls were down there, existing that that's it. She would have liked to say that they were happy but they wouldn't know what happy was. There was Rapier, with his bright red hair, sitting on one of the cushioned benches and reading a book. Erin wondered if she could imprint him as Fred and ask him a few questions without Dr. Archer knowing. This thought hit her as Dr. King, the London Dollhouse physician, walked on The Floor. He said something to Rapier and the two walked out of sight. Erin got up from her desk and left the imprinting room. Dr. King's office was close enough it didn't take to long to get there, when she arrived Rapier was sitting up on examining table and Dr. King was looking at his bruised cheek.

"Well, no worries, Rapier. It's just slightly bruised." He said. Dr. King was an elderly man, with white tuffs of hair plopped on his head like a drop of whipped cream. He wore large glasses that magnified his grey eyes. He seemed all in all, a bit of a grandfatherly figure. "How do you feel?" He asked Rapier.

"I try to be my best." He told him.

"Of course you do." Dr. King patted him on the leg and turned around to get something. "Oh, hello Erin." He smiled at her. "How can I help you."

"I-I" She started then cleared her throat. "I need to see Rapier. It's um, time for his treatment."

Rapier got off the table and walked to join Erin at the door.

"Alright, well I want him back her the second he's back. I haven't finished his check up yet." Dr. King told her as she took Rapier away.

"I like my treatments." Rapier told her as he sat in the chair. Erin wasn't listening she was looking through the wedges that held all the original Dolls.

"Fred, Fred, Fred." She muttered to herself until she found it. She slammed it into the chair and started it up. The tiny red head watched Rapier closely as the chair lit up for a moment then stopped, raising itself into a sitting position. "Fred?" She asked, a bit uncertain.

He blinked a few times, looking a bit confused, then he looked at Erin. "Has it been five years?"

"No, it's been three. I've brought you back so I could ask you a few questions." She told him. "C-could you tell me about why you came to the Dollhouse?"

"I thought Dr. Archer said I didn't have to share that." He frowned, looking a little troubled. "Why do you want to know?"

"Your file didn't say why. I want to know because, on one of your engagements," She paused wondering if she should tell him. "You ran into some problems. Do you have a twin?"

"Georgie? I ran into George?" He asked, suddenly looking happy. It amazed Erin how he lit up at the mere mention of his twin.

"Is that his name? Your twin's name?" She asked.

"Yes," He nodded. "How in Merlin's name did I run into him?"

Erin raised an eyebrow at the mention of a mythical wizard but didn't say anything about it. "What about the rest of your family?" She asked. "We couldn't find anyone with the name of Weasley anywhere."

"Well of course you're not going to find us in any muggle databases we're wi-" He stopped himself. "Never mind, forget I said anything."

"You're what?"

"Never mind," He said this time more stern. "How is Georgie? Do you know?"

"I didn't see him personally, but from what Joan said he misses you." She told him. Fred went to scratch his face in thought and flinched the second his hand touched his cheek. "That's a souvenir from him, by the way. You didn't remember him, for obvious reasons, I assume he got angry." She explained the large purple bruise.

"They think I'm dead." Fred told her. "My whole family thinks I'm dead." A tear traced down his cheek, leaving a glistening trail over the bruise. "I left them because I realized how much I had hurt them. I couldn't live with it."

Erin had what she needed. "I'm going to wipe you again." She told him and he gave a reluctant nod. "Two more years, Fred, it'll go like clock work." She tried to sound sincere.

"Hey, before I leave again, if you see Georgie, could you tell him that I miss him too?" He asked, his brown eyes looking straight into her green. She nodded and he reclined in the chair. "Two years," He muttered before the chair lit up and he was gone, back into the wedge.

"Did I fall asleep?" He looked at Erin, his face void of any expression. Erin frowned, suddenly questioning what the Dollhouse was doing.

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><p>Rapier was back at the art table. This time, instead of fireworks it seemed he was drawing nothing at all. He was blending red and yellow paint together on the paper, making it gradually change between the two. Every once and a while he'd put his paint brush down and look at the paper like he was unsure of what he was doing. When Erin reached the table she noticed that what she thought an misshapen blob was actually a lion standing on it's two hind legs. She continued watching him for a moment, fascinated. It had been a good week since her talk with Fred. After which she had scrubbed his mind. She kept remembering how happy he had been when she had mentioned George. She had never seen him like that before, not even when he was imprinted and going to see the person he was made to love. She wondered if there were some relationships that you can't completely wipe away, or even create.<p>

The Dollhouse deals in fantasy. She kept telling herself. Whether it was perfect or not, that didn't matter. So, what if the fantasy wasn't perfect. As long as people didn't notice, it didn't matter. Mistakes will always be there. It wasn't her job to fix the mistakes. It was her job to erase them.

"Rapier, time for your treatment." She told him and he got up from the art table, following her upstairs to the imprinting room. Joan was already there, sitting in Erin's chair, waiting for her part as handler.

"Come on Berton let's hurry this up. I don't like assassination jobs and I'd rather get this one over quickly."

"It's not an assassination job. It's more of a warning shot. Who's the target again?" Erin asked as she imprinted Rapier.

"Sherlock Holmes at 221B Baker Street." Erin said, then turned to Rapier who had just been imprinted. "Hello Zane, it's been a while."

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><p>Zane peered through the scope, eyeing the man who was sitting in plain view of the window. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his red hair. The night London air was buzzing around him, he wasn't used to jobs in the middle of the city or jobs where he was supposed to miss. It honestly annoyed him, his talents were being wasted if he wasn't honestly killing someone. He looked back through the scope and aimed so the bullet would hit a good two inches from the man's head. His finger expertly danced on the trigger, ready to shoot.<p>

The gun shot rang through the night, and cut through the glass window. The man gave very little sign of a jump or a flinch before looking out the window. Even though he was looking straight where Zane was he couldn't see him, Zane had picked this spot just for the perfect shadows, no one could see him. So, he just smirked at the man and left the letter that he was instructed to leave.


	4. Chapter 4: Dance

**Oh my Gosh, everyone, I am so sorry this chapter took so long. Sherlock's character is so hard to right .**

**Well, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Reviews are welcome as always.**

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><p>Sherlock frowned down at the gun and letter that the shooter had left behind. "He meant to miss." He said, picking the letter up. "The shooter was deadly accurate, the bullet missed only by two inches. That's not a mistake most trained shooters make. Plus, he left a letter addressed to me. This was to get my attention." He opened the envelope and found a single white index card, it's gold lettering glittering in the early morning sun.<p>

_I love to watch you dance. -JM_

"Moriarty." He grumbled. "He's playing at me, John." He turned the card over and saw the word _Dollhouse_ written on it.

"But why the shooter? Why leave the gun?" John asked.

Sherlock ignored the question and turned to Lestrade. "The shooter was six foot, roughly. He was deadly accurate, most likely military trained or something similar. He's right handed and was favoring the left side of his face when shooting. Most likely had an injury there. Did we have any eye witnesses to what he looks like?" He rambled off, no one bothering to ask how he had come to the conclusion anymore.

"A security camera caught him on his way down from the roof. We got his face, that's it." Lestrade said as he handed him the printed out picture. The quality of the picture of the appalling but Sherlock could make out the man in black who seemed to be the happiest man in the world.

"Good, the sooner we find him, the sooner we know who Moriarty sent the sooner I can figure out why he left this card." He pocketed it and mouthed the word _Dollhouse_ before turning on his heels and walking away with John chasing after him.

"But why leave the gun?" His companion asked, losing his patients.

"He had no use for it, and no reason to not leave it. We won't find any fingerprints on it, nor will it have any serial number. It'll be filed away. Any connection this gun had to the shooter was miniscule. He left it so he'd have less weight to carry as he made his get away." He explained as they got into the cab. "We need to make copies of this, so I can circulate it through my network. Surely someone in London has seen this man." He said as he looked out the window. Then he did something a bit unexpected. "Stop the car!"

_**BREAK**_

George's initial anger at Fred was mostly gone, though he knew it wouldn't disappear completely until he had the chance to properly chew his twin out. It had been a good two weeks since he had found Fred and he had spent every waking moment trying to find him again. London's streets had now become so familiar to him that he rarely got lost anymore. Some of the locals had even come to know him, sure they knew him as "That guy with one ear who's looking for his brother", but they knew him. He stayed near to the street he had found him on, hoping that lightning might strike twice. Most days he would see that obnoxious blond who had been with Fred but she always refused to tell him anything and would just glare at him when she did see him. Sometimes George considered giving her a harmless jinx, but he never entertained the thought for long. After all, she was just a muggle.

He was about to get himself breakfast at the nearby cafe when he heard car tires screech to a halt. Next thing he knew there was a tall man in a very long coat walking over to him. He looked George up and down before turning to his companion, a short blonde man in a ridiculous looking jumper. "It's not him."

"Sherlock, what are you talking about? This man looks exactly like the shooter in the photo." The short one said, pointing to a piece of paper in his hand.

"He's surprised to see us, John." The tall one, who George assumed was Sherlock, said in exasperation. "The shooter wouldn't have stood there looking like a moro-"

"Hey!" George shouted, offended, but the man ignored him.

"He would have ran for it."

"You said the shooter was favoring his left side. This man is missing his left ear. What other reason would there be to favor his left side?"

"Oh, I don't know," George cut in. "The nasty bruise I gave him on his cheek." Both of the men turned to him. "That's my twin in that picture!" He pointed at the picture.

Sherlock looked at him. "Twin? Did you say he's your twin?" A grin playing across his face as he looked down on George.

"Yeah, I've been looking for him. What's this about a shooting?" George asked.

Sherlock's grin grew as he whipped his phone out. "Oh this is brilliant, just brilliant." He started to text.

"What's brilliant? What are you even talking about?" He demanded, getting very frustrated with his new acquaintance.

"What's your name?" Sherlock asked.

"George, George Weasley." He told him.

"Well, George Weasley. Your twin brother shot at me last night. But you wouldn't know anything about that would you?" He studied George closely. "You haven't seen your twin in years have you? Except for a couple weeks ago when you punched him in the face." Sherlock said. "Obviously he made you angry. You were angry because you hadn't seen him in three years and weren't expecting to see him, leading to the conclusion that you thought he was dead."

"How did yo-"

"You'll get used to it." John told George who was staring wide eyed at Sherlock. "Would you like to come to our flat? You might be able to help us find your brother."

"He won't end up in Muggle jail will he?"

"What's a muggle?" John asked.

"Nothing, I meant to ask if he'll end up in jail if we catch him."

"Yes," Sherlock said simply.

"Then I can't help you. I want to find my brother, but I don't want him to end up in jail." He glared at the two men as though they were enemies now. "I've lost him for three years already, I'm not going to lose him for any more time."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, lovely sentiment. You'll find, George, that sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. It can, and will, be used against you. If you help us find your brother, you might be able to talk him into confessing. If he confesses the law might go easier on him."

_Or if we find him, I'll apparate us away from these muggles and drag him back home._ He thought. "Alright fine, I'll help you.


End file.
